A Woman’s Plight in Afghanistan: LFM Reviews The Patience Stone

By Joe Bendel. For a woman in Afghanistan, an incapacitated husband is both dangerous and liberating. The unnamed man was never much of a husband, at least as westerners would understand the term, but he will finally become a good listener in Afghan expatriate Atiq Rahimi’s The Patience Stone, which opens this Wednesday in New York.

It was a loveless arranged marriage. Her grizzled old husband acquired her when she was really just a child. At least he was not around much during the early years of their marriage. Instead, he was off fighting whomever, only periodically returning to lord over her. Over time, they had two daughters, but they never “learned to love each other.” Yet, when a tawdry dust-up leads to a bullet in his neck and a subsequent coma, she loyally tends to her former tormentor.

Sending their children to live with their worldly aunt, the woman spends her days maintaining their battle-damaged home and watching over her comatose husband. She must keep him hidden from sight, lest the roving bands of warlords recognize her defenseless position. Unfortunately, a small contingent of soldiers eventually barges in, with the intent of forcing themselves on her. Understanding the perverse nature of her country’s misogyny, she claims to be a prostitute, causing most of them to lose interest. As her aunt explains, those sharing their virulent Islamist mentality take manly pride from raping virgins, but are repulsed by sexually experienced women.

However, the shy one eventually sneaks back, hoping to hire the woman’s services. She does not exactly agree at first, but they soon share intimate encounters on a regular basis. In fact, she starts to enjoy them, both as a sexually liberating experience and a passive aggressive salvo against her husband. She does indeed confess each assignation to him, as well as the rest of her deepest, darkest secrets. He has become her “Patience Stone,” the mythological vessel that retains all the sorrow the owner divulges, until it finally shatters.

What a lovely corner of the world this is. Women are treated like chattel, forced to wear burqas, and consequently blamed for the predatory behavior of men. Atiq’s film, based on his French language Prix Goncourt winning novel, quite boldly examines the pathological sexism of Islamist society. If it sounds vaguely homoerotic when the young soldier confides to the woman his commander puts bells on his feet and makes him dance in the evenings, it should. Atiq is rather circumspect in his handling of this issue, essentially using it to establish the woman’s sense of compassionate outrage. Fair enough, but there is only so much of that which can easily fit in to an intimate chamber drama such as Stone.

Essentially, Stone is a two-hander, but the second hand spends nearly the entire film in a persistent vegetative state. Fortunately, Golshifteh Farahani, the Iranian exile based in Paris (seen in Chicken and Plums and in Ridley Scott’s mullah-offending Body of Lies), is extraordinarily compelling as the woman, largely carrying the film on her shoulders. It is a profoundly vulnerable yet surprisingly sensual performance, likely to equally inspire her fans and outrage the theocrats in her Iranian homeland. Still, Mossi Mrowat has some quietly powerful moments as the young, naïve soldier.

True to the limits of the woman’s world, Stone has a two-set, four-character staginess that it just cannot shake loose. Nevertheless, it powerfully crystallizes all the anguish and rage pent-up inside exploited women like Atiq’s protagonist. He and Farahani might be exiles, but with Stone they vividly hold a mirror up to their respective societies. Recommended for those concerned about the state of women’s rights in the Islamic world and fans of Farahani, Patience Stone opens this Wednesday (8/14) at New York’s Film Forum.

LFM GRADE: A-

Posted on August 12th, 2013 5:31pm.

LFM Reviews The Man Who Watched Trains Go By @ The Cine-Simenon Retrospective

By Joe Bendel. Those Frenchies are always trying to corrupt their guileless provincial European neighbors. Georges Simenon certainly would have known. Technically, he was Belgian, but he was an expert on Parisian fast living. One timid Dutch clerk gets his own crash course in Harold French’s The Man Who Watched Trains Go By (a.k.a. Paris Express), which screens during the Anthology Film Archives’ Cine-Simenon retrospective.

Kees Popinga was born to be a bookkeeper. Quiet and detail-oriented, he spends his weekly night out at the chess club, where his boss, Julius de Koster, is also a member. His only eccentricity is a passion for trains, whose timetable he has memorized. One day, Inspector Lucas visits his firm from Paris as part of a mysterious investigation. It seems to involve the beautiful French woman Popinga happened to spy de Koster affectionately seeing off at the train station.

Confronting the haughty de Koster, Popinga learns he has looted the company in order to abscond with his French lover. An altercation ensues, spurring the unprepossessing Popinga to take flight. Assuming one Dutchman with a suitcase full of cash is as good as another, Popinga sets out to find the femme fatale, Michele Rozier. He is right of course, but not in a happily-ever-after kind of way. Better understanding the shady characters conspiring against him, Inspector Lucas will scramble to find the naïve Popinga before his mad interlude completely spirals out of control.

Trains might not be the absolutely best noir ever filmed, but it boasts two Phantoms of the Opera: Claude Rains (star of Universal’s 1943 color remake) as Popinga and Herbert Lom (featured in the 1962 Hammer production) as the hypocritical de Koster. Future international movie star Anouk Aimée also steals all her brief scenes as the alluring Jeanne, a “professional” colleague of Rozier’s.

From "The Man Who Watched Trains."

There is also plenty of Simenon-ness to Trains, particularly the cat-and-mouse game played by Popinga and the Inspector. Indeed, Lucas is a good copper, balancing cunning and compassion in the Maigret tradition. The underappreciated Marius Goring is one of Train’s best assets, playing Lucas with considerable intelligence and flair.

Of course, Rains is perfectly dependable, if not career-defining, as the mild-mannered Popinga. His convincing slide from respectability to manic self-destruction recalls some of his early Universal work, like in Edwin Drood. Frankly, despite her greater screen time and stylish villainy, Märta “the next Ingrid Bergman” Torén’s Rozier is overshadowed by Anouk (as Train simply billed her).

The Man Who Watched Trains Go By is a presentable noir, distinguished by its tragic tone and the decency of its sleuth. Nicely representing the themes and motifs of Simenon’s “roman durs,” his psychologically complex, non-Maigret novels, it makes a good fit for Anthology’s Cine-Simenon series. Recommended for fans of Rains and noirs in general, it screens today (8/12) and Wednesday the 21st at Anthology Film Archives.

LFM GRADE: B-

Posted on August 12th, 2013 at 5:28pm.

LFM Reviews The Bottom of the Bottle @ The Cine-Simenon Retrospective

By Joe Bendel. After the war, Georges Simenon whiled away some pleasant days in Nogales, Arizona. Presumably, he appreciated the charms of bordertown life. It also became the setting of a somewhat un-Simenon-like tale of fraternal dysfunction. The spirits will flow in Henry Hathaway’s adaptation of The Bottom of the Bottle, which screens during the Anthology Film Archives’ Cine-Simenon retrospective.

It rarely rains on the ranchland outside Nogales, but when it does, the Santa Cruz floods, cutting them off from the rest of the world. For Paul “P.M.” Martin and his fellow landowners, this means it is time for their traditional floating house parties. However, the sudden appearance of his brother Donald puts a damper on his mood. While they never really got along, the whole escaped convict thing particularly irks the status conscious P.M.

Of course, nobody knows about the black sheep sibling he will introduce to his wife Nora and their friends as Eric Bell. With the river running high, the Martin brothers will just have to bluff their way through until Donald can slip across to his waiting family. Unfortunately, the younger Martin brother is a recovering alcoholic, under severe stress, and about to attend his first rainy season party, which will be all about getting pie-faced hammered.

This is an odd film, but it is a big film, rather dazzlingly shot in Cinemascope by Lee Garmes. It starts out as a desert noir, segueing into Lost Weekend, then marital strife melodrama, and finally shifts into a modern day western, as the highway patrol posse saddles up, chasing the fugitive Martin into the hills.

Granted, Bottle is not a classic classic, but it is rather strange that it is not programmed more frequently. It would certainly make an interesting double bill with Touch of Evil, the classic bordertown noir directed by Joseph Cotten’s old comrade, Orson Welles. Sort of conceived as a follow-up to Hathaway’s Niagara, also starring Cotten, Bottle is nowhere near as gripping as those two films. Still, it has Dragnet’s Harry Morgan as a kindly barkeep, who plays Ellington’s “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore” during the morning hours.

There are flashes of mordant wit throughout Bottle (the doorbell that rings “How Dry I am” might have been the work of an acerbic stagehand, but it still counts) and Hathaway makes the most of his southwestern locations. He also shrewdly manages to shoehorn in one amazingly cinematic mission church as often as possible. Indeed, this is a finely crafted production, particularly the Martin’s richly appointed ranch house, which makes the Southfork look like a welfare hotel. And speaking of Dallas, Jack Davis (a.k.a. Jock Ewing) turns up in a minor role as a member of the Martin’s boozy social circle. Nonetheless, Bottle’s depiction of the local Hispanic population (probably considered broadmindedly sympathetic at the time) is pretty cringy for contemporary viewers.

Cotten has the right look and presence for P.M. Martin, even if his ascot-looking bandanas are a wardrobe mistake. Van Johnson also stretches his chops quite notably as the sad sack brother. Surprisingly though, it is Ruth Roman who really stands out as the assertive but family-oriented Nora Martin, who is rather impressive holding P.M.’s feet to the fire. It is a smarter character and performance than one expect in what is essentially a “helper” role.

So Bottle might not be a good film, per se, but it is entertaining in its way. A late product of the old school studio system, it demonstrates both the merits and drawbacks of the era, cramming enough interesting stuff into a misconceived vehicle to maintain viewers’ attention the all the way through. It is definitely the ringer of AFA’s Cine-Simenon, but it still makes sense to include it, because when else could they show it. Those intrigued should definitely check it out when it screens tomorrow (8/13), Wednesday (8/15), and Sunday (8/18) at Anthology Film Archives.

LFM GRADE: C+

Posted on August 12th, 2013 at 5:24pm.